


Continuum

by BelieveMePlease



Category: Rugby RPF, Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Break Up, Heartbreak, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:10:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelieveMePlease/pseuds/BelieveMePlease
Summary: He doesn't want him. He doesn't have feelings for him. He doesn't have time for him.Unwanted. Unloved. Worthless.
Relationships: George Ford/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 6





	Continuum

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from a place of heartbreak, nothing more than a senseless, almost nonsensical outpouring in a desolation of my own. Please heed this as a warning if you are feeling in any way similar.  
This may now give a purpose to John Mayer's Continuum, an album now impossible to me.

It's been days. Five long days. More than a hundred torturous hours of silence. After weeks of constant, came the abyss of nothing; weeks of everything, crumbled into nil.

Finally the reply comes in, finally, the expected relief. Instead, nothing more than desolation stares at him unashamedly, bores savagely between his eyes until the talons of heartbreak's brutality slash and tear unchallenged at the weakened tethers of his will.

George blinks, eyes twitching around tears that won't come, a sob that has been long since torn from his throat through days of endless worry. Worry that he had done something wrong, worry that something might just _be _wrong. It is wrong, very wrong.

The screen still glares, the messages unwavering. George blinks once again. The tears finally begin to sting.

It had been more than a month of heaven, crushed by less than an hour containing no more than five messages, containing no mercy in the words, no hope for any future. The last one is final, is clear, unmistakeable.

He doesn't want him. He doesn't have feelings for him. He doesn't have time for him.

From his brimming eyes, the water spills, until the bitterness of salt slips slickly between George's lips. The tang on his tongue does nothing to counter the aching in his chest, the nausea in his stomach.

Unwanted. Unloved. Worthless.

Beside him, his phone remains silent. The buzz that he longs for, the message of retraction, the change of heart, the sorrowful phone call - nothing ever comes. It's over.

In his mind, in his heart, George had found the one, the brief flicker of happiness in a life that otherwise holds little worth waking up for. In an instant, it had all shattered before his eyes, and with it as had his heart.

Sodden in his muddy kit, he lies, silent, bottom lip quivering beneath the top so violently, so starkly different to the composer held throughout the stillness of his body. The sobs wrenching through him draw little sound beyond a rattling wheeze in his chest.

His eyes blaze red in the darkness of the room, tears dampening his cheeks and the cotton of the bed sheets beneath him. Alone, all alone. Again, alone.

Unwanted. Unloved. Worthless.

Across the room, he knows the pills lay, undisturbed in their packet, waiting patiently to be taken the next day. The happy pills that fail to make him happy, the ones everyone makes so sure that he takes. Instead he'd found a love to make him happy, now an unrequited reality that leaves him with nothing more than the crippling morbidity of his cruel mind once again.

Around the tears, his eyes shudder closed. Perhaps tomorrow he won't take them, perhaps he'll let the realness take a hold.

Perhaps he'll slow dance in the burning room around him, waiting on a world that fails to change, as gravity drags him further and further into the cold depths of the ground. 

**Author's Note:**

> Lovely writers, I want to use this to apologise for being so absent from your comments sections recently, I promise I am not ignoring your wonderful works, but, perhaps this can offer an implied explanation as to why.


End file.
